I Am Not The King
by NeonZangetsu
Summary: Joffrey Lannister. A vicious idiot, fool of a king, poisoned at his own wedding. That should've been the end of it. But what happens when the "gods" see fit to resurrect him with the soul of a humble author? Never-mind ruling, with half the realm out for my head, how am I going to survive! I'm no king! Somebody help! Accepted challenge. OCxharem? Vote via review!
1. Not Again

**A/N: REVIEW FOR IT FEEDS THE ENGINE OF CREATION~!**

**Bloody hell, fine!**

**Why must you all present me with all these juicy challenges and requests?! I've got too many sodding stories already! No more after this! 0_0 If you'd like me to write something personally for you I might be obliged to find the time but this constant flow of new stories needs to STAHP soon before I lose myself in Game of Thrones completely!**

**Help! A man is loosing his mind!**

**Also, I almost died the other day, so that might be why I'm writing so frequently and fluently atm when it comes to new stories. Now, I won't bore you with the details, but lets just say I got lucky, and this is coming from a man who once rolled his car and was struck by lightning afterward. So, yes. VERY lucky. A near-death experience has a way of changing a man. For me? I don't think I feel fear anymore, strange as that sounds. **

**Oh, the rest of my emotions are still quite there because I still remember being quite livid with the _sonuvabtich_ responsible. But that matter is long settled. I still feel. I still hope my leg will get better. I still love writing. I still feel compassion for those close to me. I still have the will to make it through the day-to-day. Just...not fear. Not anymore. Perhaps I should thank him for that. I suppose the whole lack of fear thing should be concerning...hmm. Might wanna see someone about that.**

**Once more, this is a self-insert story, so please be kind.**

**They're not my forte, but I like to think I'm getting better at them.**

**Again, pure Game of Thrones story here, no Naruto, no crossover, no nadda. Yes, a pure Game of Thrones story.****.. but with a twist. Now, with that out of the way ****I reluctantly present for your viewing pleasure...**

**...I Am Not The King.**

**As with "A Man of Many Faces" this will be gone in _two_ _days_ if people don't like it.**

**So by all means dear readers, do let me know, and soon.**

**Leaping right into the thick of things here folks~!**

_"They say death as a way of humbling a man._

_Let's find out, shall we?_

_Now. WAKE UP."_

_~?_

**Rise**

_I couldn't breathe._

Instead, my muscles-and my throat!-clamped down like a vice, squeezing like a fist as I choked on my last breath in this world. I could see nothing. Hear nothing. Feel nothing, beyond the searing pain in my throat. Where was I? How had I gotten here? What was going on? I tried to suck in a reflexive breath only to find that I couldn't. Panic set in like old rot, gradually creeping through my thoughts as a spider would its web. My chest gave a feeble heave, to no avail. My lungs still starved. Life slipped away from me.

_I needed to breathe._

My mind blanked and my vision hazed, all the colors of the world reduced to naught but a grey smear in my peripherals. I struggled and squawked and tried to raise my hands to my throat but they betrayed me, refusing to move. No, not just my hands, but my entire body. As though I were trying to force water through a broken sieve. Still my lungs begged for release, longing only exhale even as I scrabbled at the strange darkness I found myself cocooned in.

_Why couldn't I breathe?!_

Fear seized my mind anew in an icy vice, further tainting my thoughts further still as I spasmed in silence, because there was nothing else I could do. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. With no air in my lungs I could only struggle in the darkness, thrash as the pulse in my veins slowed to a trot, a crawl, then nearly nothing at all. Wherever nightmare this was, wherever _I _was, I wanted out of here. Out. Out!_** OUT!** _Right now! Right this very instant! I'd do anything. Anything! Just make it stop! Just let me out! Let me go! Please!

Why was everything so cold?

The darkness did not answer. It had no need to. I was nothing to it; just another mote of dust, just another speck in oblivion. Was this the afterlife? If so, I wanted no part of it. There was nothing here. Only death, cold and callous. So cold. So very cold. As each second slipped by I felt myself grow weaker, my face purpling from lack of breath, yet still something in me clung on in stubborn defiance. How long did I have left? Thirty seconds? Fifteen? A handful? Less? I shouldn't be cold, yet I _felt_ colder, as though ice were seeping into my veins, the reaper's chill stealing up over my shoulder to sink its cold claws into my heart.

And then, quite suddenly-

AIR.

Without warning, whatever had been holding my throat shut this entire time cleared all at once. So too did the pressure. Instinct seized me and I bolted upright without thought or care-and felt something tumble from my eyes- as my withered lungs rejoiced with a great gasp followed by a whooping cough that would've woken the dead. Looking back, there was a certain irony to be had in that statement.

_"Bwah!"_ I wheezed out! _"Sonuvabitch!"_

Not the most eloquent words of choice, I know.

I woke all at once, jerking upright with a hoarse shout, and promptly fell flat on my face for my trouble. Cool stone kissed my forehead and I flailed upright, greedily sucking down great mouthfuls of air. Sweet, blessed oxygen flooded my body as I planted my hands against the floor. Still reeling, it took me a moment to recognize the complete and utter silence engulfing me. I caught sight of myself in the polished stone then and my vision skewed wildly off course. An unfamiliar weight against my head caused my left hand to rise, even as I blinked bleary and tried to see what I was grasping in my right.

My fingers curled around something gilded and golden.

In that same instant, my vision cleared and I saw it. My face. No. Not my face. The crown nestled against my pale forehead. Pale hair. The young visage that was most assuredly not mine gazing back at me; this strange pale reflection that had no business being there, alongside the gaudy doublet I wore. And of course, the crown.

Crown.

Crown?

_**CROWN?!**_

My face twisted in surprise and the nasty little visage of Joffrey Baratheon_-Lannister!-_mirrored my contempt wholeheartedly. Joffrey. One of the most hated men in Game of Thrones. I wanted to punch him. Myself. Ourselves? Somehow this all felt vaguely familiar, as if I'd dreamt through a similar experience, only to have forgotten it upon waking. Was that it, then? Was this a nightmare? Some fever dream as I lay dying? I'd been having a lot of those lately, but something in my gut dissuaded me.

A muscle jumped in my jaw, pounding alongside three veins in my forehead.

Sputtering, I crashed backward; in place of the darkness that had dominated my vision I found myself staring at a high, vaunted ceiling. A great room-sept, my panicking mind babbled-sprawled out around me, silent and cold, the air swelling with incense. As if for a funeral. My gaze snapped back and forth like a broke rubber-band, confusion mounting with every moment. This couldn't be happening. I wasn't meant to be here. Should _not _be here. I was no king. I didn't want to _be _a bloody king, dream or no! Kings have responsibilities! I'm too lazy for that shite~!

_Alright, calm down, this is probably a dream. Yes! That must be it, I'd never write something like this, so it has to be a-_

"By all the gods...!"

My ears perked up of their own accord.

I knew that voice; yes, I knew it painfully well. It did not, however, make my reaction any less poignant. This couldn't be happening.

"Ach, my head...

Damnit, even had the little shit's voice...

Wow. Charles Dance really did live up to his reputation as an actor. I hadn't even done anything to him, yet he looked like he'd seen a ghost. All told, Tywin Lannister seemed about as startled to see me as I was him, and thrice as shocked. I was I'm not pleased to say that I nearly died then and there due to my own stupidity. Not through any verbal action on my part, but from the weapon still clutched in my right hand. I was, after all, still holding a sword. Widow's Wail, was it? In struggling upright I nearly opened my lap with the damn thing.

Still cut my hand, though.

"Oh for crying out loud?!" I hissed, dropping the Valyrian-steel blade like a scalding iron. "Why can't I catch a break today?!"

Under any other circumstance I might've found his expression priceless; one didn't surprise Tywin Lannister. The one and only time I'd seen that expression was when he'd been shot on the privy by Tyrion. Shit. Tyrion. A spark of confused hope ignited in my chest despite the confusion, only to be swiftly buried as my gaze flitted about the room. Right, right, there was Tommen opposite Tywin, which probably meant Cersei was probably somewhere nearby at the very least and _oh gods how am I going to deal with her-_

Strong arms wrapped around me like iron bands and crushed my head into a woman's bosom.

"Joffrey!"

Well!

There was my answer.

Gods above and below this was going to _suck..._

**A/N: ****Once more, this will be gone in two days if people don't like it. ****So by all means dear readers, do let me know. ****NO MORE CHALLENGES OR REQUESTS AFTER THIS PLEASE. Don't tempt a poor man beyond his means! Have mercy m'lords and m'ladies~! ****I need to work on the rest of my stuff and I just caaan't do that when I'm getting 50+ bloody requests a day! They're all so...good...tempting... so unique...NO NO NO! Bad Neon! Resist! *Slaps self* Think of the fans!**

** Yes, this is Season Four. **

**Yes, that was the Sept of Baelor.**

**Yes, I've been resurrected/reincarnated as Joffrey. In full view of a lot of people. You thought "I Am Not A Dragon" was going to be nuts? This'll be off the bloody rails.**

**So, in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...would you kindly? And of course, enjoy the preview! 'Tis a pair! Amusing! And a surprise!**

**(Preview)**

_"Stop, you idiot! He's not guilty!"_

_"Be that as it may, the evidence is clear-_

_"Fuck the evidence! I'm the king and I say release him at once!"_

* * *

_Baelish grimaced._

_"My lord, if you would just give me a moment-_

_"Moment received." came the cold reply. "Now off with your head."_

* * *

_The boy was...receptive._

_Where once he had been little more than a raving sycophant, Joffrey was suddenly calm. Quiet. Measured. Willing to listen. Asking questions-the right questions, always inquisitive. As if he were another person. His quick execution of Lord Baelish had prove he would not shy from violence, yet his suddenly staunch defense of Tyrion confounded and infuriated him in the same measure. Perhaps his "death" had opened his eyes. Perhaps not. Perhaps he had never been dead at all Pyscelle reasoned, but that was madness. He'd seen the boy die. Yet here he was, looking to him for advice._

_...grandfather?"_

_Tywin didn't know what to make of it..._

_...and it almost made him proud._

**R&R! =D**


	2. Trials and Tribulations

**A/N: Well.**

**I wanted to prove that I can, and WILL update things other than my Fate stories, so here we are. Case in point.**

** Question!**

**What in blazes is A Hat in Time? Everyone's pestering me to write stories about it. A Little help here?**

**REVIEW FOR IT FEEDS THE ENGINE OF CREATION~!**

**You don't have to, but it keeps the fire burning and warms whats left of my cold heart.**

**Bit of a multi-perspective chapter here, fitting given who we're dealing with.**

**Think of it as a pseudo-interlude of sorts.**

**Needless to say this "resurrection" is going to stir up King's Landing, Westeros, and eventually the world itself. After all, its not every day the dead come back to life. When Jon came back and Beric-bloody bastard lived SEVEN LIVES-it caused quite the stir. Clearly word is going to spread one way or another.**

**Of course its going to shake up people! That's not the sort of thing you can dismiss!**

**Clearly the three most affect by this initially are Tywin, Tommen, and Cersei. They-alongside a smattering of guards and priests-saw "Jofrrey" rise from the dead. This isn't the kind of thing one could keep under wraps; indeed, I believe Varys and Littlefinger wouldn't even try, for obvious reasons.**

**Don't even get me started about the High Sparrow~!**

**Quote below is a modified version of, well...**

**...lets just say events to come.**

**Sorry if its short~!**

_"A boy, back from the dead. But is it true, I wonder? Did he really return?"_

_"Or did someone else take his place?"_

_~Littlefinger._

**Trials and Tribulations (Interlude)**

_He was alive._

Her baby boy, her first boy.

Alive, alive, _**ALIVE**_ thank all the gods!

She'd prayed and prayed and prayed and for once, they had answered.

At first Cersei hadn't been able to believe it; despite her initial reaction fear and paranoia had reared their ugly heads to poison this glorious moment, tainting it with whispers of self-doubt and loathing. This was a trick of some sort, her mind raved. Some last petty act by Tyrion-though she knew he was currently wasting away in the Black Cells and awaiting trial-done just to spite. An impostor, perhaps? Granted, it seemed absurd, but

Naturally she'd demanded proof. Something only her boy would know.

Then he'd looked dead at her and, almost with shame, said:

_"A good king knows when to save his strength. And when to destroy his enemies."_

She'd only ever said those words to him and only in privacy; with that, the shadow of doubt vanished as she dragged him into her arms again. He'd muttered something but she hadn't paid him any mind; wrapped as she was in sweet joyous bliss. Tommen seemed almost...relieved. Happy even, to have the burden of kingship lifted from his shoulders. Cersei was glad for him. Her youngest didn't deserve such a fate. Well! Now that cunning little Tyrell girl wouldn't get her claws into him...how she longed to see her face.

But death seemed to have changed her eldest. Hardened him, somehow.

Gone was that petulant sneer, in hits place

As if he'd become some else.

_How little she knew._

* * *

(...0o0o0...)

* * *

Well.

This was...unfortunate.

No, unfortunate didn't begin to describe the depth of this disaster, Olenna decided. Unfortunate was a word one might use for an accident, a mistake, a slip of the tongue. This? This was not unfortunate. It was absolutely absurd! Coming back from the dead? Light of the Seven? Nonsense! Utter nonsense! Dead men died. They stayed, dead. This wasn't some sordid fairy tail filled with Grumpkins and Snarks. Once gone, one did not return from the void-one could not!-as if they were taking an afternoon nap!

Yet this boy had!

Rare it was indeed, to see the vaunted Queen of Thorns at a loss for words, but at a loss she was.

She never would have believed it herself if she hadn't seen him stumbling around the Red Keep only yesterday. The boy had looked...lost. Flanked by his Kingsguard as always, yet he never seemed more afraid. As though someone had handed him a map but reversed the directions. He'd seen her from afar, looked like he wanted to speak with her, but seemed to think better of it. How unusually...timid of him. That was Joffrey's face to be sure, even if his arrogance had abandoned him. No Faceless Man could've gotten their hands on it, surely. Blast it all. She'd seen him die. Dropped the poison into his cup herself.

The boy should be dead.

Indeed, the boy ought to _be_ dead.

So why in the Seven Hells _wasn't_ he dead?!

Well. She'd have to do something about this, certainly!

Perhaps it was time to return to High Garden. Kings Landing was not safe these days...

_Not with bloody dead men walking about!_

* * *

(...0o0o0...)

* * *

The boy was...receptive.

Where once he had been little more than a raving sycophant, Joffrey was suddenly calm. Quiet. Measured. Willing to listen. Asking questions-the right questions, always inquisitive. As if he were another person. His quick handling and caputre of Lord Baelish had prove he would not shy from violence, yet his suddenly staunch defense of Tyrion confounded and infuriated him in the same measure. Perhaps his "death" had opened his eyes. Perhaps not. Perhaps he had never been dead at all Pyscelle reasoned, but that was madness. He'd seen the boy die. Yet here he was, looking to him for advice.

Tywin Lannister was not a man who believed in magic-nor the madness it brought-but he couldn't deny something was afoot here.

It made no sense.

Not a bit of it, none of it at all.

How did one make sense of something that _made no sense._

For nearly a fortnight now the boy had buried himself in book after book, asked question after question, seemingly without end. Now he was calling for Baelish's return to the capital, for high treason no less. Tywin wasn't all that inclined to stop him; if whatever madness he was at permanently removed that loathsome little man from the equation then he'd be quite happy to step aside and let him do as he pleased...for now. There was an angry, cold light to the young man's gaze, and didn't care enough for Littlefinger to interfere. Still...this sudden humility...

...grandfather?"

Truly, he didn't know what to make of it...

...nor this sudden and alarming turn of face...

...and it almost made him proud. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

* * *

(...0o0o0...)

* * *

Petyr Baelish wasn't feeling terribly proud at the moment.

Not at all, given that he'd been dragged back to the capitol in chains. His once fine robes were gone, replaced with a simple brown tunic and breeches. They served as little more than peasant rags, further contrasting his dirty face and unkempt hair. All that finery stripped away, and what did you find at the end of it all? Just a man. And what was a man but a miserable pile of secrets? It was a good look for the man who wanted to see the world burn. Only fitting that someone who thrived on chaos be quelled by that same chaos.

It almost brought a smile to my face.

Watching that little weasel dragged before the Iron Throne brought me more relief than a thousand lying...well._ You know._

I'd never liked Littlefinger; if you couldn't tell. Not once. Not ever.

Part of the reason I'd put a bounty on his head; one people were all too eager to collect.

That reminded me; I would have to do something about Tyrion, I couldn't very well let him rot in the dungeons lest he meet the executioner's ax. But for now, there other matters to attend to. Perhaps if I threw the blame at his feet-I knew the scheming bastard was at least in part responsible-something would stick. Just looking at him made my throat clench all over again. Wearing this hideously tight red doublet didn't help. Even with the weight of a crown on my head, it still felt as though I were living through a waking dream, one I'd wake up from at any moment.

But this was no dream, as much as I might wish otherwise.

I'd let Baelish stew in a cell for a week for good measure. For all the good it had done him. I could see it in his eyes. The avarice, the ambition, the sheer greed, now spice with hate. He was utterly undaunted by any of this; still thought he would find a way out of the hole he'd dug himself. No doubt he had some clever plan in place. Ghastly little weasel.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

Perched on the Iron Throne, I watched like a hawk as they brought him to kneel before Joffrey. Me. Ugh, this was confusing! Once more I had to marshal my thoughts as they made him kneel. That supreme confidence of his had begun to fade now, washed away by the very real fear of losing his mind was probably clamoring seven ways to Sunday, trying to figure out where he went wrong. It couldn't be him. The poison should've done its work. And it had. Word of King Joffrey's "death" had already spread through half the Seven Kingdoms long before he'd-I!-had woken up. At a glance he might've suspected me as an impostor-most did-but no, he was keeping his thoughts to himself.

He would never know.

No, I was determined-absolutely determined-to see Littlefinger in the ground here and now. What had Varys said about him, once upon a time? He'd watch the world burn if he could be king of the ashes? Yes, something like that. Not only was he a threat to Westeros, but I simply. Didn't. Like him. And in Joffrey's body I found myself in a unique position of power, one that I intended to make use of while I could. Events may have gone too far for me to make things right with the Starks, but at the very least-at least this much!-I could hopefully start setting the realm right. I hadn't brought him here for a trial by combat, or any such nonsense. He was here to fulfill a single purpose; to die before the lords and ladies of Westeros.

If I didn't die again.

If an assassin wasn't sent.

If I didn't lose my bloody mind.

_If._

"Do you know why you're here, Lord Baelish?" my voice still sounded like a croak even to my ears. Blasted stress. "No, wait, I'm sorry. Former lord. Shall I call you Petyr instead?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw and the weasel grimaced.

"You stand accused of treason to the Crown and an attempt on my life. How do you plead?"

I could see the gears turning in his head. Pity I wasn't about to give him the time to blame Olenna for this.

"My lord, if you would just give me a moment-

"Moment received." came the cold reply. "Now off with your head. Ser Merryn?"

Credit where it was due, the Kingsguard didn't hesitate. He'd scarcely finished speaking before his sword slipped free from its scabbard. Poor Petyr. He barely had time to speak before sharpened steel sliced through the flesh of his neck; splitting flesh and bone like rotten wood. His head flew from his shoulders as though it had been struck by a giant, eliciting a shriek from several ladies of the court.

I wasn't Joffrey.

No. Not now. Not ever.

But seeing that repulsive little troll die...

...watching his head tumble across the room like a ball...

_...well. Fun isn't something one considers when ruling, but this put a smile on my face._

**A/N: Next chapter will be better and longer.**

**Again, this is only an interlude of sorts, because I'm horridly busy and tired, not to mention sick.**

**Once more, this will be gone in two days if people don't like it. ****So by all means dear readers, do let me know. ****NO MORE CHALLENGES OR REQUESTS AFTER THIS PLEASE. Don't tempt a poor man beyond his means! Have mercy m'lords and m'ladies~! ****I need to work on the rest of my stuff and I just caaan't do that when I'm getting 50+ bloody requests a day! They're all so...good...tempting... so unique...NO NO NO! Bad Neon! Resist! *Slaps self* Think of the fans!**

** Yes, this is Season Four. **

**Yes, that was the Sept of Baelor.**

**Yes, I've been resurrected/reincarnated as Joffrey. In full view of a lot of people. You thought "I Am Not A Dragon" was going to be nuts? This'll be off the bloody rails.**

**So, in the immortal words of Atlas...**

**...Review...would you kindly? And of course, enjoy the preview! 'Tis a pair! Amusing! And a surprise!**

**(Preview)**

_"I want to feel safe, Your Grace."_

_"And do you? Feel safe?"_

* * *

_"You grace."_

_"None of that, Margaery. Call me Joffrey."_

_Her brow rose._

_Alarm flitted in the back of my mind. Oh, dear. I'd nearly forgotten; this was Margaery I was dealing with. Smooth as creme and sharp as a thorn. She knew "something" was _

_Bugger._

* * *

_I planted a hand against my face to stop the smile._

_Cersei might be a vicious woman, but she loved her children. She was my mum._

_Oh god, I swore soft. I'm thinking of her as my mother already. This...bodes poorly for me._

* * *

_...you want to use a sword."_

_I could FEEL Jaime staring holes into me, even with my back turned._

_"I died." my hand rose my throat, this time in unfeigned fear. "They won't stop until I'm dead. So I have to be able to protect myself."_

_I turned a look on him and he sputtered. At the end of the day, Jaime wasn't a bad man. "Oh. Well. Yes, of course. I could show you the basic forms, at least."_

_I held back a smile._

_Gotcha._

**R&R! =D**


	3. The Price of Freedom

**A/N: Double update! Ha! I've still got it.**

**So we're getting a Game of Thrones prequel, are we? ****How many of those have been canceled now? I've genuinely lost track by this point.**

**Still, I promised an update for this, so here we are. No long author's note this time, just a simple tale. ****Hope you enjoy~!**

**Getting another surgery in a few days, so I'm trying to update as much as I can before then.**

**Ugggh...anesthesia and I are NOT friends but I definitely need it...**

_"They're calling you the boy who lived."_

_"Please, don't. That title doesn't belong to me."_

**~?**

**The Price of Freedom**

Tyrion Lannister watched the door to his cell open and wondered if death had finally come to claim him. Ideally, he'd hoped many things when he first saw the faint torchlight gleaming through the cracks, when he heard the rusty squeal of worn hinges. Wine would have been nice. Jaime would've been better. Frankly, at this point he would've settled for Bronn.

On this stormy evening the door to his cell creaked open and light pierced the black cell in which he found himself.

Squinting against the dull light, the dwarf shielded his face with a hand and sighed softly as the torchbearer emerged. His "guest" had hidden their face with a hood and a dark cloth mask, which didn't exactly do wonders for his confidence. Anyone who would go to such great lengths to hide their appearance likely didn't want to be seen. An assassin, then? He wouldn't put it past Cersei. Gold moved blades these days just as much as it opened legs perhaps even more so.

The assassin set the torch in a brazier and waited. Dithered in place.

Tyrion tensed, waiting for a blade to be drawn. It never came. The moment dragged on.

Finally, the last thread of his patience snapped. "Oh, just get on with with you son of a whore."

_"Well, that's a little rude."_

As he looked on, his would-be killer peeled back their hood, removed their mask, and without word or warning, Tyrion found himself face to face with a dead man. At first he thought him a ghost; he was certainly pale enough to be one. But no, his eyes didn't deceive him. He almost wished they had.

"Come to torment me, have you?"

"No." Jofrrey said. "I've come to bargain."

A flagon of wine sailed through the air and landed in his arms. Tyrion fumbled at it for a moment, uncertain, then gave in and drank greedily. Ah, sweet bliss. He hadn't had anything to drink for days. If this was to be the last thing he tasted, then he would die a happy man. Well, _happier _at any rate. He was beginning to think it was impossible for a Lannister to truly be happy these days. Maybe they didn't deserve to be; not after all they'd said and done.

And now this!

"I've also come to...apologize."

Tyrion nearly spat out his drink when the boy shed his cloak and sat before him. As far as jokes went, that was a bad one. Among the worst. Joffrey had never apologized for a single thing in his wretched life. Seven hells, he'd seen the boy _die. _Wasted and gasping for air, retching violently, face turning purple as the muscles in his throat clamped shut and cut off his air.

And his last spiteful action had been to cast the blame at his feet.

Yet here he was. Hale and whole, if a little pale.

"Please don't look at me like that." the boy actually scratched the back of his head, looking all the more bashful beneath his withering glare. "You're not exactly doing wonders for my confidence."

Confidence, he said. Ha!

Just the thought of it made Tyrion scowl.

"Hrmph. You'll forgive me if I don't get scrap and bow."

A nervous peal of laughter greeted him. "Don't blame you. I wouldn't either."

Confusion twisted Tyrion's guts into an ugly red knot, one he couldn't find a way to untangle.

Joffrey was a monster, a tyrant, and a vicious little shit, capricious and cruel. And this _was _his nephew, of that there could be no doubt. He looked exactly like him, from his hair to his eyes, every part of him was just as he remembered. But the expression was all wrong. Gone was that selfsame sneer, gone as the arrogance, the confidence, the pride that had turned all the realm against them. He almost thought it the work of a Faceless Man or somesuch, but no, even that beggared belief. Not even Cersei wouldn't have gone to such lengths to torment him.

Come to think of it, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her or Jaime for the last few days. That didn't bode well.

The gods really were a cruel bunch if they'd seen fit to resurrect Joffrey.

"Have you come to kill me?" he asked.

To his credit, the reply was swift.

...no."

Tyrion's gaze strayed to the boy's bet. Noted the distinct lack of weapon there. "Then why are you here? Come to exchange words with a condemned man?

"Not that, either." Jofrrey -was it him?- shook his head slowly. "We're alone, here. We can speak freely."

"Is that a good thing?"

Without warning the young man fell to his knees, knelt and pressed his head to the filthy floor of the cell. Words were spoken between them, soft words, quiet words, word mumbled into dirty stone. Tyrion blinked, not trusting his ears, not believing what he'd just heard. He cocked his head, squinted in the fading light, wondering if he he'd imagined it. Almost felt like he had. Perhaps that was the wine at work. Perhaps he was just hearing things. Perhaps this was all a dream. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Very well. He'd play along for a little while longer.

"Excuse me? What did you say?"

"I said I'm sorry." the boy didn't raise his head. "If its my life you want, you can have. He's already made a mess of things."

He? Tyrion took that tidbit of information for what it was and filed it away for later. This...this had to be a joke. A trick. Some fever dream brought on by the wine perhaps. But the boy made no effort to move. None at all, none whatsoever. Almost embarrassing, really. In another life, Joffrey wouldn't be caught dead doing such a thing.

"Oh, do get up." he sighed at last. "You're making a fool of yourself."

Remarkably, the young man did as he was bade.

He looked...lost. Alone. Afraid.

"I want to make amends." he babbled. "To fix things. But I don't know how."

"And so you came to me?"

"Of course." A strange, almost nostalgic look flitted across the boy's face. "You're the smartest man I know. Please. Help me."

Well.

Well, well, well!

This was certainly a night of surprises, wasn't it? Tyrion took back everything he'd just said. Who was this impostor and what had been done with the real Joffrey? It almost seemed too good to be true; that the boy would actually scrape and bow before him...it seemed absurd. And yet...

"Death has a way of opening your eyes." the boy muttered, turning his head. "I would know."

"And what did you see?" he whispered.

Joffrey gave him a haunted look. "Nothing."

That lone word echoed in the cell between them, harsh and flat. A cold chill swept through Tyrion like the winds of winter. Wasn't that what the Starks always said? Winter was coming. In that moment, it almost felt like it, and the thought turned his blood to ice in his veins.

"What makes you so sure?" Tyrion grimaced despite himself. "You might've imagined it."

"No." a shake of the head followed. "I know what I saw. There was only darkness. That was when I knew." He paused, seemed to weigh what he was about to say, and shook his head. "I'm not him. I'm not Joffrey."

...what?"

"This is his body." the boy babbled on before he could speak, before he could condemn him, shout him down, or call him a fool, "But its not him. I woke up in it. Cold. Alone." his words took on a hysteric note. "This is his voice, his face," he palmed at himself, "But I can't pretend to be him." his shook his head feverishly. "I've seen what he's done. I won't do that. I won't be a monster. I can't. I won't. But if I can't play the part, I'll die again. And I don't want to die."

"Why tell me this?"

"Because," the hope in his eyes was almost too painful to behold. "You're a good person, Tyrion. One of the few genuinely GOOD people in Westeros." he sounded incredibly small in that moment. "And like I said, I don't want to die. I have to trust someone. You're the only one within reach. Everyone else wouldn't believe me. They'd declare me mad, have me killed, or just lock me up and throw away the key.

A pause followed, before the boy -Joffrey?- bulled onward.

"Please," he begged, hands clasped before him. "Help me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll even set you free. Just...please. I need your help."

Such a tale beggared belief. Dead men did not rise again. It just wasn't done. They certainly didn't come back to life as...someone else. And yet the haunted look in the boy's eyes was all too real. Joffrey would never act like this. Not for any reason, ever. He'd sooner throw himself on his own sword than ask for help. Spirits, he'd seen him die. It shouldn't be him, couldn't be real.

Yet when one dismissed the impossible, what was left but the impossible?

Magic was real. Dragons were rising across the Narrow Sea. And now, the dead rose.

This boy had brought him wine, told him his tale and offered to release him if he complied.

Tyrian sighed. That settled it, then. He was far, far, FAR too sober to be listening to such a yarn at this hour.

The dwarf paused. Considered the half full wineksin in his hand. With a reluctant sigh, he bid the boy to rise. _"We're going to need more wine..._

**A/N: And there we have it!**

**Sorry if this is short, I'm a bit of a mess at the moment, worked up and worried about surgery and whatnot.**

**Tyrion's fate has changed. For better or worse, who can say? He's still in a nest of vipers. ****I'm sure you've also realize something else, dear reader. ****Without Tyrian to guide Daenerys, to temper her impulses...well. Things are bound to change. ****Then again, given the mess the final season made of him, I'd call this a far better fate.**

**Sooo In the Immortal Words of Atlas...**

**...Review, Would You Kindly?**

**And enjoy the previews.**

**(Previews)**

_Margaery beckoned. "Come back to bed."_

_"Oh, dear..._

* * *

_"You want to send a missive to that blasted Targaryen?" __Tywin scoffed. "You do realize she's likely to tear it apart rather than look at it."_

_He was pleasantly surprised when the King stood his ground. __"Nevertheless, this needs to be done."_

_...very well. What do you wish to say?"_

* * *

_"A fine edict, if an unpopular one." Tyrion pattered my back. "I don't believe the Starks will thank you for it, assuming they ever learn of it._

_I slapped a hand against my forehead. "What else could I do?"_

_Of all the people to be reborn as. Why Joffrey?_

_This felt like a sick joke..._

**R&R~! =D**


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